


Burlap and Canvas (Brother, You're Our Twine)

by radioshack84



Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioshack84/pseuds/radioshack84
Summary: Missing scenes from 1x01 "I Saw the Sun Rise" in which Magnum doesn't just get back up after being beaten unconscious by two ex-Marines.  Concussed and in pain, he's not thinking clearly, which is making it that much more difficult to come to terms with the loss of his brother -- and that much more dangerous to try to bring Nuzo's killers to justice.
Comments: 41
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Magnum, PI or any of the characters you recognize from the show. Written for enjoyment, not money.
> 
> A/N #1: I am not a medical professional. I've done my best to research, but I do apologize for any medical inaccuracies.  
> A/N #2: This story is complete. Chapters will be posted Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, RL permitting.

Magnum tasted blood. Blood and dirt. The slippery, gritty mixture coated his tongue and pooled around his lips. It was in his nose, matting his hair, trickling down his face. He pushed up on his hands and spat on the ground, but the motion sent a torrent of nauseating agony rushing through his skull that dropped him again. He didn’t know up from down, wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open. Sound was muffled by the ringing in his ears and he balled himself up around the throbbing mass of pain that was his stomach, sinking back into the blackness.

When he came to the second time the pain was no better, but the ringing had subsided enough that he could hear the surf in the distance and a few random voices. American voices. He relaxed a little. With the blood, disorientation, and darkness, he’d not been at all certain that he wasn’t back in Afghanistan. Slowly, he cracked open his eyelids and found further confirmation that he was in Hawaii in the form of a red blur that, with much effort, solidified into the shape of one of Robin’s Ferraris. The car looked strange, though, and it took him far longer than it should have to work out why: he was lying on the ground beside it, staring up at the half-open driver’s door. He remembered trying to reach his gun beneath the seat, but his attackers had beaten him to it -- and then beaten him _with_ it. Struggling to move, Magnum attempted to ascertain whether the men were still nearby and ultimately decided they weren’t when he didn’t get kicked in the head again for his trouble.

At length he made it to his hands and knees, but had no idea how he was going to make it further. He couldn’t see straight. His pulse pounded in his ears, blood still seeped from somewhere on his forehead, and the pain from the initial hit he’d taken to his midsection promised to overwhelm him if he straightened his body even minutely. 

Watching fresh red droplets making patterns in the dirt, he took a few deep breaths, trying to quell his nausea. He failed. Korean barbecue mixed with blood on the ground and every retch was like another fist to the gut, but when he finally stopped gagging he somehow managed to crawl a few feet away from the mess before collapsing against the side of the Ferrari. Shoulder wedged firmly against the back wheel, he slowly curled up once more and closed his eyes, feeling terribly sick and shivery. 

Two minutes. He just needed two minutes. Then he’d get up, call Rick, and go find out what was at those coordinates Nuzo had left him.

Twelve minutes later, he ordered himself to get off his ass in his most unforgiving inner voice -- the one that had mastered him through SEAL training and many, many dark days in captivity. 

Ten minutes after that he was still slumped against the car, breathing through the pain, listening to Cyndi Lauper sing “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”.

Wait, what? 

His pocket was vibrating. With fingers that were shaking almost as much as his phone, Magnum dug the device out and answered it, a little surprised to find it still in one piece. “Rick,” he muttered thickly in relief.

“Hey, how did it go with your friend?”

“Was jus’ gonna call you ‘bout that.”

“You sound weird, Magnum...are you drunk?”

_Punch-drunk_ , Magnum thought absently, but made more of an effort to enunciate. “No. Could use a ride, though.”

“Uh oh, did you wreck _another_ car?”

Thomas scowled at that, mildly affronted despite his current state. “No! You sound like Higgins.”

Rick laughed. “Where are you?”

“Kim’s Barbecue.”

“Great, I’m only five minutes away. Did he figure out what those numbers mean?”

“They’re coordinates.”

“Coordinates for what?”

Magnum sucked in a slow, careful breath. Talking was _not_ helping the fiery ache in his stomach or the nausea that was still threatening. He opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again, swallowing hard.

“Thomas?”

“When you get here,” he finally managed, then hung up quickly before his friend could hear the groan that followed.

\-----

Rick glanced uneasily at the “Call Ended” message on his screen. A lot of things about that conversation felt off. For one, Magnum wasn’t normally so abrupt. What could he have possibly learned from Kim that was so sensitive he wouldn’t discuss it over the phone? More importantly, why had he been slurring his words? He could have been lying about drinking, but Rick didn’t think he was. Thomas seldom had more than a couple of beers during an investigation, especially one as important as this.

What was it, then? Wright failed to work out the answer as he exited the highway, but he developed another question immediately upon arriving at his destination: why had Magnum asked for a ride when the undamaged Ferrari was parked just down the street from Kim’s?

Slowing, Rick swung his own vehicle into a space halfway between the two, pocketed his keys, and began scanning the area for his friend. A street light illuminated the interior of the Ferrari -- unoccupied. Kim’s was dark, as expected -- it was late, well after eleven. The boardwalk was deserted, too. It was just the kind of night Thomas would take advantage of for a quiet stroll on the beach. Unfortunately, Rick didn’t find him there either. A stray dog was having a fine time splashing in the surf, but otherwise the beach was as empty as the rest.

Turning back for the cars, Wright pulled out his phone and began composing a text. He hit send and heard a faint ping from the direction of the Ferrari. Apprehension growing stronger, Rick increased his pace, rounding the back of the car at a jog. There, he skidded to a halt as his heart sank abruptly into his shoes. Magnum was half-sitting, half-lying against the rear wheel, limp and unmoving. The left side of his head and neck were drenched in blood, and his gun lay on the ground not three feet away.

“Thomas! Hey, you with me, brother?” Rick demanded anxiously, fearing the worst as he dropped to his knees next to his friend. At closer proximity he could see that Magnum was conscious, but it was little consolation. He was in rough shape -- breathing shallow and ragged, body trembling. Reaching out, Rick grasped his shoulder firmly. “Come on, look at me, Tommy.”

They both winced in tandem as Magnum sluggishly turned his head. His face was completely ashen between scrapes and bruises, and his left eye was swollen under a deep gash in his eyebrow -- the source of much of the blood. “Shit, man, what happened to you?” Rick breathed as he peered at the still-bleeding laceration with concern.

“Didn’ wreck th’Ferrari,” Magnum quipped weakly.

“No, you just look like it ran you over a few times,” Rick answered, pressing his fingers against Thomas’ wrist. His pulse was way too fast.

“Nah...it was the guys who took Nuzo...they wanted me to drop my investigation. Badly. But those numbers I found weren’t random. They’re GPS coordinates for the windward side of the island. We need...need to get a look at whatever’s out there...ASAP. It has to be related to why they...went after him. Is your boat available?”

Rick stared at him incredulously. “The _club’s_ boat is booked on an all-night private charter, which is just as well, because the only place you’re going is the hospital.”

“I don’t need--”

“You do need!” Rick interrupted sharply. “Kim’s closed at 2230, which means you’ve probably been right here for at least an hour. How much of that time did you spend unconscious?”

“Not long,” Magnum lied, somehow mustering an innocent look. 

Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh. I’m not losing another friend today. Stay put. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“ _Hell_ no,” Thomas said, and if he’d been giving Rick puppy-dog eyes before, now they were just haunted and grief-stricken.

Rick paused, phone in hand, and paled a little himself. That last, terrible image of Nuzo in the back of that ambulance... _hell no_ was right. Feeling suddenly protective, he nodded in agreement, but it didn’t change the fact that Thomas needed medical attention. Soon. “All right, Plan B. We need to get this bleeding stopped. Then, you _are_ getting checked out, but my car’s just the other side of yours. Think you can walk that far?”

\-----

They ended up taking the Ferrari to the hospital. Even with most of his weight supported, Magnum’s legs barely held him long enough to reach the passenger side, and by the time Rick gently lowered him into the seat and strapped him in he was making small sounds of distress that Rick hadn’t heard since Afghanistan, and had hoped to never hear again. As in the prison camp, though, there was nothing to be done for it, so Wright fastened his own seatbelt, gunned the engine, and murmured occasional words of encouragement that were as much for his benefit as for Magnum’s.

Verbal reassurance gave way to internal monologue at some point during the trip, and Rick had just about convinced himself that his friend would be all right when they reached an exam room and things took a turn. Magnum’s knees buckled as he was trying to rise from the wheelchair that had transported him from the car. A nurse’s quick thinking saved him from crashing to the floor and he was helped safely onto a gurney, only to let out a sob of such unadulterated pain at the evaluating physician’s gentle pressure on his midsection that he passed out anyway. As if that weren’t bad enough, the newly-minted resident froze in place, looking terrified, his shaking hands hovering indecisively over his patient.

Rick could have heard a pin drop in the sudden silence, but just as he was glancing between Thomas and the medical staff, wondering whether it was a good time to have a heart attack, Magnum let out a soft groan, reanimating the doctor who began rattling off orders. A flurry of activity ensued, and Rick watched as Thomas had several vials of blood drawn from one arm, gained an IV line in the other, and was given a small dose of morphine before being taken for CT scans of his head and abdomen.

That had been half an hour ago, and Wright still hadn’t stopped pacing the small room. He’d thought he’d relax once he got Magnum to the ER, but between the Doogie Howser wannabe, his friend’s anguished cries, and the speed at which they’d rushed him off to radiology, Rick was so antsy that his heart tried to jump out of his chest all over again when the door finally slid open and Thomas was wheeled back in. At first glance he appeared to be asleep, but his winces as the nurse worked to clean and bandage the gash over his eye said otherwise. He seemed more fragile than he had before -- his battered body now sheltered by layers of blankets and the greyish cast to his skin more pronounced with the blood absent from his face and his ruined shirt traded for a hospital gown.

“How’s he doing?” Rick asked quietly.

The nurse gave him a small smile as she gathered up her supplies. “I’ll leave most of that explanation to Dr. Connor. He’ll be back in to speak with you once he reviews the results of Mr. Magnum’s scans, but your friend’s vitals are starting to stabilize. Try not to worry.” She took a last glance at the monitors before leaving them alone. Rick sighed and made one more circuit of the room before coming to a stop next to Thomas’ bed. After a few moments, a pair of barely-open eyes met his.

“It’s not polite to stare, Orville.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not polite to call names, either, so I guess we’re even.”

Thomas smirked slightly and his shoulders shook with what Rick assumed was laughter, before he tensed suddenly, his face contorting in a grimace.

“Hey, careful. I’m not that funny.”

Magnum’s only response was a pained grunt, and he clutched at his stomach weakly with one hand. Rick grabbed the other, squeezing it as Thomas squirmed uncomfortably. “Shhh, just ride it out, buddy. You’re all right.”

“Hurts, Nuzo…”

Rick suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to _know_ this: how it was going to be without Nuzo. It had been the four of them for so long and through so much. They had a system, a method for handling every possible scenario, their own specific roles they played. Dealing with an injured Tommy...well, that was Nuzo’s _thing_. Sure, they had all taken care of each other over the years, and Rick had patched Magnum up many times (and would willingly do so many more if needed), but when Thomas was in really bad shape, _really_ hurting, it was invariably Nuzo that he asked for. The bond between those two had always run deep, even before the events in Afghanistan. Maybe it was a SEAL thing, maybe something else, but all Rick knew was that he felt completely inadequate as a stand-in. Nuzo should _be_ here, dammit.

The hand he’d been gently massaging with his thumb squeezed his firmly, and with stinging eyes he looked down to find Magnum watching him with equal devastation. “Sorry, brother. Drugs. I know he’s not here,” Thomas mumbled. “Glad you are.”

Not trusting his voice, Rick just nodded, and didn’t even bother trying to hide the tears that spilled over as he sank heavily into the chair beside the bed. “What can I do?” he asked after a few moments, noting that Thomas hadn’t relaxed his grip and that he was getting fidgety again.

“Get me...outta here?”

Rick frowned. Magnum couldn’t be serious. Still...something in those words had triggered a fragment of a memory, and Wright tentatively asked, “Land, air, or water?”

“Chauffeur's choice.”

Silently giving thanks for the insight, Rick thought for a moment. “Water. Let’s say...aircraft carrier.”

“That’s cheating.”

“No, it’s not. There’s a fleet of ten pirate ships surrounding you. You’ll need the firepower.”

“Modern-day pirates, or Jack Sparrow?”

“Cap’n Jack for sure, matey.”

“Oh, come on. Pirate ship cannons are no match for an aircraft ca -- ”

“Did I mention they’re phaser cannons?”

“Why would...the _Black Pearl_...have phaser cannons?”

“Because she’s going to battle with the _USS Enterprise, duh_!”

“You do realize the _USS Enterprise_ aircraft...carrier was decommissioned...over a year ago, right?”

“Do you want to get out of here or not?”

“Just making sure I understand the...rules of engagement.”

“Suffice it to say that both sides have enough armament and technology to make it a fair fight, okay?”

“Fine.”

“So, as I was saying, you’re surrounded by ten pirate ships. The _Black Pearl_ fired the first shot, but it was just a diversion. The _Enterprise_ is being boarded as we speak. You’re standing on the flight deck with Ambassador Spock -- shut up, he’s _French_ \-- and national security depends on you getting him safely off the carrier and to an island base twenty miles away. You have every resource at your disposal, but neither of you are pilots and Spock refuses to fly anyway. The pirates will kill you both if they capture you. What do you do?”


	2. Chapter 2

Magnum fell asleep while waiting to see if Jack Sparrow’s unsavory associates would succumb to the trap he and Spock had laid using C4 bricks disguised as crates of rum. He had to admit that Rick was just as good at the game of Chauffeur as its inventor, and, unlike Nuzo, Rick refused to be led astray by overly-technical debates concerning the blast radius of plastic explosives, which actually made the game a more effective distraction.

Unfortunately, his pounding head and aching stomach weren’t about to be upstaged by a game, so although he managed to fall asleep he only stayed that way for a short time. The remnants of the morphine tried to hold him under, but he kept surfacing every few minutes to barely-dulled pain and jumbled thoughts of Nuzo and his attackers, which was worse than just being awake. Hard as he tried, though, he couldn’t seem to find the energy to break free of the fog.

More time passed, and he surfaced again when he heard a door sliding open and then Rick’s tired voice addressing someone in surprise. Latching onto the sounds a little desperately, Magnum used them to slowly claw his way toward wakefulness.

“Mickey?”

Pause.

“Ricky? Ricky Wright?” Slightly-gravelly female voice. Equally surprised.

“How the hell are you?”

Footsteps. An elaborate high-five?

“No complaints. Yourself?”

A heavy sigh. “Not if you’d asked me yesterday. We lost Nuzo this morning.”

“Oh, Rick. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. Uh...not that I’m not glad to see you, Mick, but what are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like? ER attending, going on six months now. You were probably expecting Dr. Connor, though. Sorry about that. He’s occupied with another patient at the moment. I’m picking up his slack.”

“I’m guessing you do that a lot.”

A quiet chuckle. “Connor’s just green. He’ll get on fine when I’m through with him, but don’t tell him I said that. I hope he hasn’t given you and...” Keyboard keys clicking. “...Mr. Magnum too much trouble. Wait...Magnum? _This_ is Thomas?”

Another sigh. Probably a nod.

“Dare I ask about TC?”

“He’s hopefully at home asleep by now. I should call him, though. Haven’t had a chance to let him know about Tommy.”

“You certainly have had a day, Ricky.”

Long pause.

Curiosity and substantial effort finally got Magnum’s eyelids open to slits, and he searched the room, finding Rick embracing a thin, middle-aged woman in scrubs with short, graying hair. Mickey. Did he know that name? She obviously knew of all of them, but Magnum couldn’t place her. He craned his head slightly, trying for a better look at her face, but his neck wouldn’t have it. Pain shot through his head and down into his shoulders and his vision blurred. He must have made some sort of sound as well, because they both turned toward him.

“TM, you awake? The doc’s here.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and eventually managed to get his eyes open a little more. Looking carefully from his friend to the doctor and back again, he asked, “Have we met?”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to assume you mean her, not me. And no. Thomas Magnum, this is Dr. Mickey Jenkins, an old friend of mine from the service. She saved my ass a couple of times back before I met you knuckleheads, and I ran into her again in Germany when we were all there.”

“I’m like a bad penny, I just keep coming back,” Mickey said, a glint of mischief in her hazel eyes. “It’s good to meet you, Thomas. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. How’re you feeling?”

“Been better,” he admitted with a half-smile. “What’s the damage, Doc?”

“To the point. I like that.” She returned the smile as she perched on a stool next to the bed and consulted her laptop. “The Cliff Notes version consists of a moderate concussion, contused spleen, cracked left floating rib, multiple cuts and scrapes, and you’re mighty bruised up. I think most of the abdominal pain you’ve been experiencing is due to the rib injury and the bruising, though. There was no sign of active bleeding on your CT, but we’re going to need to keep an eye on that for a bit to make sure. Your pressure’s still on the low side.”

Magnum nodded. It was like half a dozen flash-bangs going off inside his skull simultaneously. His vision tunneled, and he thought he was going to pass out. If the doctor was still speaking to him, he didn’t notice. He had only one immediate concern, “Gon’ be sick…”

He gagged, and barely heard Jenkins’ warning that she was going to turn him on his side before he was being rolled to the right. More flash-bangs ignited, completely washing out his vision. Then...nothing. He lay perfectly still as the storm washed over him, breathing heavily, beyond dizzy, hurting everywhere, but somehow he didn’t throw up. In fact, the nausea began to recede little by little. That was normal. It usually went away first. The ringing in his ears would take longer, assuming the flash-bangs didn’t keep coming. Once, they’d set off so many in a row that he hadn’t been able to hear anything for two days afterward. This time, though, it looked like it was just going to be the strobe lights. The youngest interrogator preferred that method. Honestly, so did Magnum if he had to choose. He could handle the bright lights better than the loud sounds, but he knew Nuzo couldn’t. Through the painful flashes and flares in his vision, he tried to check on his friend.

Nuzo was lying across from him on the ground, hands bound tightly in front of him with zip ties. His face was bloody, and Magnum froze when he met his eyes -- wide open, lifeless, unseeing. _No. Nonononono!_

Thomas blinked furiously, willing the image away, and barely noticed the moisture running down his face as the cell morphed into an ambulance around Nuzo. Damn them. _Damn_ them. A hand squeezed his shoulder, startling him, and suddenly the ambulance was gone, Nuzo was gone, and Dr. Jenkins was looking down at him with concern as she tucked a penlight back in her pocket. He ignored her, still stuck on the part where Nuzo was _gone_.

Her hand squeezed more insistently. “Thomas, can you hear me? I really need you to answer.”

The realization that he _couldn’t_ hear her, at least not with any significant volume, was enough to jolt his attention back to the present. Somewhere beneath the persistent throbbing in his head, he noticed an odd sensation of pressure in his left ear. He frowned at the doctor, puzzled, and gingerly reached to touch it. She nodded, apparently already on the same page, and held up an otoscope to indicate her intent before nudging his hand aside.

The pressure in his ear ramped up momentarily, crossing the threshold to pain, and as she completed her exam and stepped out of his field of vision, Magnum started to wonder if he should be alarmed by the hearing loss. He wouldn’t be of much use as a deaf P.I., but hell, it wasn’t like he was of much use as a _hearing_ P.I., either. Nuzo’s face flashed before his eyes again and it was all he could do to hold his composure. He sniffled a little in spite of himself, the tears from before having caused his nose to run, and to his utter confusion (and horror) Jenkins reappeared and swabbed some of it into a vial before handing him a Kleenex.

Magnum wrinkled his nose and fought the urge to sneeze. Okay, seriously, _gross_. She began to step away once more, and this time he automatically rolled onto his back to find out what was going on. At least, he tried to. Pain and vertigo immediately crashed over him again and he gasped, his whole body going rigid. Distantly, he felt hands on his shoulder, his hip, halting his motion and keeping him still for a time before eventually guiding him the rest of the way down. He heard something beeping loudly then, along with a low, moaning sound that he discovered was coming from him.

“It’s all right, buddy. You moved too fast is all.”

Magnum wanted to tell Rick how all right it _wasn’t_ , but he supposed his friend already knew that if the light touch smoothing back his hair was any indication. It was the only part of his head that didn’t hurt, though, so he allowed it to be his focus until the pain ebbed enough that he was able to unclench his jaw. 

Slowly, the outside world began to reassert itself around him. Blankets and sheets and wires shifted, untangling themselves. A blood pressure cuff inflated noisily, squeezing his bicep, then releasing. Something rubbery was clipped back onto his index finger. Disconcerted by the amount of activity, Thomas cautiously opened his eyes. He was rewarded when the room spun only a little, but he contented himself for several minutes by staring at the gentle twist and turn of the ceiling, unwilling to tempt fate by moving even slightly.

His surroundings had yet to completely settle when something began tapping at his ankle. Very, very slowly he risked sliding his eyes to the left and found Dr. Jenkins watching him closely. “Hey there. Welcome back. Can you rate your pain for me, zero to ten?”

Now that his right ear was no longer pressed against the pillow, he could hear her well enough, but the off-center quality of the sound was a nagging reminder that he was half-deaf, and he needed answers. “What were you doing with the...that...swab-thing?” he blurted, gesturing to his face and the Kleenex that was still balled up in his hand.

She continued to regard him for a moment longer before answering, “Just a precaution. You’ve got some blood behind your eardrum and I need to run a couple more tests.”

“Is that why everything sounds muffled?”

“Most likely. The fluid should dissipate on its own in a few days.”

“So the hearing loss is temporary,” he said with relief.

Mickey nodded. “I’m optimistic.”

“Wait...does that mean there’s a chance it’s not?”

“I’d be lying if I said no, but I think you’d have a better chance of getting up and doing a cartwheel right now,” she said with a wry smile.

Magnum grimaced at the thought. “Point taken.”

“Your turn to answer my question, then. How’s your pain?”

He shrugged slightly, and Jenkins gave him a dubious look. “Don’t kid a kidder, Thomas. You were in a bad way a few minutes ago, and I’ve already admitted you so you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Magnum tried to scowl at her, but his body protested even that minor rebellion and the swollen split in his left eyebrow set half of his face throbbing. He flinched and closed his eyes against the pain as it localized to his temple and sharpened. “Seven?” he whispered uncertainly.

“Mmhmm, I’d even hazard nine from the look of you,” Mickey sympathized, patting his shin. “Poor boy. I’m going to order some stronger pain meds so you can sleep for awhile, and I think we should get some ice on that eye. Do you need anything for nausea while I’m at it?”

“Not the worst idea.”

Jenkins nodded. “On the way. Hang in there for a few more minutes and we’ll have you comfortable. Until then, I want you to just rest easy. No sudden moves, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered a little sheepishly.

“Good. I’ll check back later.” A smile and another pat, and she was gone.

Rick followed her out, promising to only be a minute, and Magnum knew that he was about to become their topic of conversation. That didn’t bother him, until his sluggish brain realized that Jenkins hadn’t actually answered his question about what his snot had to do with the hearing loss. She’d wanted to run more tests, but for what? The missing puzzle piece nagged at him, but his eyelids seemed to be gaining weight by the second, and despite the relentless throbbing in his head he fell into a restless sleep before he had a chance to pry any answers out of Rick.


	3. Chapter 3

6:30 a.m. was way too early for phone calls as far as Magnum was concerned. It was too quiet for the shrill ringtone that sent spikes of pain through his skull, and too dark for the brightly-illuminated screen that drove sharper, hotter spikes through his eyes. He fumbled for the answer button just to make it stop, not even trying to read the caller ID.

“Thomas, thank God. You have to help us!”

“Lara?” Magnum said groggily. “What’s wrong? Why are you whispering?”

“They’re back. Please, hurry!”

“Lara, where are you?”

“At home. TC brought us by before work because Jake left his stuffed stingray here, the one Sebastian gave him last Christmas. He wouldn’t sleep at all last night without it. We were in Jake’s room when those men showed up, but...oh no.”

“Tell me what’s happening,” Magnum urged, struggling to sit up. He’d been transferred to a room at some point during the night, and his bed was inclined at an angle that was making it difficult to move.

“TC went back to the living room to confront them,” Lara was saying. “I heard them fighting, but I…” Her breath hitched, and when she spoke again her voice shook, “I don’t hear TC anymore. They’re laughing, Thomas. Oh, God, they’re coming down the hallway. Hurr--”

The call cut off, and Magnum was immediately in motion, albeit slow motion. He swung his legs awkwardly over the edge of the bed, using the side rail to haul himself upright, and, thanks to adrenaline and whatever painkillers were in his system, he didn’t immediately pass out. Dizziness bombarded him but he sat still, methodically cataloging wires and leads while he waited for it to pass. This wasn’t his first jailbreak from a hospital and he knew the monitor alarms were the first obstacle. As soon as his vision cleared, a minimum of squinting determined which machines to turn off.

Now he was on the clock. If the nurses were paying attention at all, one of them would be checking on him within a few minutes, and as bad as his head was already pounding, he didn’t know if he’d be able to offer much resistance, friends-in-need or no. Taking slow breaths, he began to shed monitor after monitor -- cardiac leads, blood pressure cuff, pulse oximeter, and finally the IV line. While putting pressure on the crook of his elbow with a wadded up Kleenex, he spotted his cargo shorts folded across the back of a chair. His shoes were on the floor next to it. There was no shirt (it probably hadn’t survived the night), but he had a spare in the car, and could wrap a blanket around himself in the meantime.

The car. Was it even here? Rick had driven last night, but where was _he_? Magnum considered calling -- his friend might be able to get to Nuzo’s faster -- but if Rick didn’t answer, he’d have wasted precious escape time. Decision made, he levered himself off of the bed and wobbled his way to the chair. His vision swam a little, and his stomach wasn’t happy in the least, but the headache didn’t spike further and he made good time getting dressed. 

Thomas was halfway to the door, blanket around his shoulders, by the time he thought about the car again. He patted his pockets. Wallet, phone, but no keys. Damn. Rick undoubtedly had them. It appeared he’d be following Higgins’ suggestion after all and taking an Uber, but he was far too unsteady to look at his phone and walk at the same time. He needed to get somewhere more private.

Opening the door of the room, he froze. A nurse was standing directly in front of him. Her back was turned, and she was talking to someone who was out of sight around the corner. If she turned even a few degrees she would see him. Slowly, silently, he closed the door again, leaning his forehead against it. Nauseous from the motion of his short walk, he willed his stomach to behave while he waited out an inane debate over a new local company offering vegan meal kits.

Finally, the nurse declared a firm preference for meat and potatoes, received a playful scolding from her co-worker, and both voices moved off down the corridor. Gathering his strength, Magnum poked his head out once more, and, finding the hallway empty, cautiously proceeded to his right, away from the nurses’ station. It was thirty feet to the stairs, fifty to the elevators. The stairs were less conspicuous, but dizziness was still an issue -- he hadn’t yet dared to let go of the railing that lined the wall.

Head spinning, legs shaking, he bypassed the stairwell door. He needed to sit down, but there wasn’t time. Ducking into a small lounge area next to the elevators, he leaned against the wall, out of sight, and pulled out his phone. He’d installed the Uber app yesterday (hey, just because he didn’t always follow Higgy’s recommendations didn’t mean he didn’t consider them) and a few taps later he was informed that a car would arrive in about ten minutes. That was ten minutes too slow, but it couldn’t be helped.

Eyeing the lounge’s sofa longingly, he noticed a black windbreaker slung over the arm. Thomas hesitated only a moment before he ditched the blanket and pulled it on. The jacket was too big for him, but would serve its purpose. He’d turn it in to the lost and found later. Zipping it up to his neck, Magnum slipped back into the hallway and punched the button for the elevator. Five seconds later it dinged and he stepped inside, hitting the button for the ground floor. The doors began to close, then recoiled. A short, stocky man stepped in and nodded to him, pressing the button for second. “Sorry to hold you up.”

“No problem,” Magnum mumbled tiredly, tightening his grip on the handrail to keep his balance as the elevator started its descent.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sorry to say, but you don’t look fine.”

Thomas glanced at the other man. Scrubs, RN tag, alert eyes assessing him with growing concern. Crap. Making a concerted effort to stand straighter, he managed not to wince. “Rough night. Car accident. They’re keeping my wife in for another day. I’ve got to go pick up our son from the sitter.”

The nurse frowned. “Is your car okay to drive? More importantly, are you?”

Magnum smiled wryly. “Totaled, and probably not. Thank goodness for Uber and a mother-hen-in-law who probably won’t allow me off the couch for the next three days while she spoils her grandson crazy.”

“Sounds like a smart lady. You should listen to her,” he said with a smile as the elevator announced its arrival to the second floor. “Take care.”

“Thanks.”

Thomas was still envisioning a nap on that imaginary couch (or any other flat surface, really) when the elevator deposited him in the lobby. He checked the time on his phone, and sank gingerly onto a bench just outside the entrance. Nine and a half minutes later, a lime green Jeep rolled past, then backed up and stopped in front of him. It had a couple of surfboards bungeed to the top, and a long-haired young man in a tie-dyed t-shirt in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, brah, are you Magnum?” he called out the open window.

Thomas frowned. “Yeah, who are you?”

The driver laughed. “Your Uber, brah! C’mon, day’s wasting!”

Magnum squinted at his phone, and groaned inwardly when he realized that this was, in fact, his Uber. He was still having difficulty focusing, and had accidentally selected the three-star-rated Jeep instead of the five-star black Honda Civic he’d intended. Standing slowly, he made his way over to the vehicle and climbed carefully into the back, giving the driver Nuzo’s address and telling him he was in a hurry.

Fortunately, Magnum took the time to buckle up before trying Lara’s phone for the eighth time. The driver was all too willing to step on it, and as Thomas listened to Lara’s voice telling him to leave a message yet again, Mr. Tie-Dye ran a yellow light and then stomped on his brakes hard to avoid crashing into the line of traffic that was backed up at the next intersection. Magnum grunted in pain as his bruised body slammed against the seatbelt, and he barely noticed the heavy thud of something hitting the floor next to him, until he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A French bulldog looked up at him sleepily from the floor, and presently wriggled out from beneath its blanket and jumped back onto the seat with a displeased woof.

“Sorry to wake you, Jeremiah!” the driver called from the front seat, then looked at Magnum in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, brah, he doesn’t bite. The little stoner’ll be out again before you know it.” With a loud laugh, he hit the gas again.

Magnum winced at the volume, and when the other man suddenly started singing, “Jeremiah is a bulldog, he’s a good friend of mine…” he turned his head away, suddenly thankful that his hearing wasn’t up to par.

It took all three verses of Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World” and most of Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” before they finally arrived on Nuzo’s street. Magnum interrupted the singing to ask to be left off at the corner and sent the driver on his (very) merry way, not wanting him near enough the house to be in danger. The sudden silence was both welcome and eerie, and Thomas started up the street as quickly as he could, trying not to think about how he’d been unable to reach Lara in the half hour that had gone by since her frantic call.

As he came within view of the Nuzo residence, he easily spotted TC’s van in the drive. No other vehicles were in sight. Crime scene tape still lined the property. Thomas crouched low and crept up the driveway, using the shrubs that lined it for cover to surveil the house. There was no movement, but he could see lights on in the kitchen as he reached the lanai. From there he watched a while longer, then made his way inside when everything remained quiet.

The kitchen was all clear, but two steps into the living room he staggered to a halt, gaping in horror. There was so much blood. It was splattered everywhere, covering things it shouldn’t have even been able to reach -- the inside of a slender vase, the highest point of the ceiling. In the face of the massacre, Magnum couldn’t move, couldn’t draw breath. He lost what little equilibrium he had left and didn’t feel the broken glass cutting into his knees as they hit the floor. He didn’t feel anything. All that was left of the world were four dead bodies: the three on the floor in front of him, and the one he was still inhabiting.

Staring blankly straight ahead, he never saw what hit him. Pain exploded in the left side of his head, and he slumped to the floor to join Lara, TC, and Jake. God, _Jake_. He was so little, so uninvolved in all of this. Magnum growled in anger and struggled to rise.

Whatever had hit him did so again, and Gerard and Resnick appeared over him, laughing, taunting, “Aww, come on, don’t be mad.”

“We warned you, but you wouldn’t back off. You did this to them, not us.”

“But this time you get to join them.”

His killers grinned maliciously. Too late, he saw one of them raise a baseball bat. There was a third impact to his skull, and his vision darkened. When it slowly cleared minutes later, Magnum inhaled sharply in shock. The men, the blood, and the bodies were gone, but the rubble of the living room remained. The double vision and pain remained. He tried to get up from the floor, but found he couldn’t. He wasn’t restrained, he just...couldn’t.

Confused and scared, Thomas dug in his pocket for his phone. Something was very wrong. His body refused to obey his commands and he worried it was related to the concussion. He should have never left the hospital. Dammit, why were his pockets empty?! Had he dropped his phone in the bushes?

Too weak to search for it any longer, his hands fell uselessly to his sides and he became aware that he was shaking as fear edged quickly toward panic. He had no way to call for help and he felt like his mind was slowly unraveling, reality slipping away. Where were TC, Lara, and Jake? Had they ever been here? Were they alive, or had he failed them, too? Lying in the middle of Nuzo’s empty living room, utterly alone, Magnum began to weep.


	4. Chapter 4

TC had had more than his fair share of sleepless nights over the years. Many of them were as a prisoner. Many others were of his own making -- avoiding his bed to avoid nightmares, or the following day, or lying awake thinking about his personal demons. The professionals he’d been mandated to see following his captivity had variously labeled his insomnia a symptom of denial, depression, PTSD -- and it was. All of those. It was also just a part of him and how he processed things.

As a young boy, when his very first best friend had moved away, he’d locked himself in his room and sat staring out the window from dusk until sunrise, finding himself still alone, but slightly more able to cope with the loneliness. In high school, when he’d finally figured out how to solve quadratic equations, he hadn’t stopped with the assignment, but rather filled half a notebook with his own examples by breakfast to make sure he wouldn’t forget the process.

From the moment they’d found Nuzo, TC had known he’d be awake for a while, possibly days. He just hadn’t expected to have quite so much company. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to have any, and had dreaded the long, empty night so much that he’d casually hung around at Robin’s after Thomas had left to meet with his contact, after they’d coaxed Jake to sleep, even after Rick had headed home citing early-morning paperwork at the club, until it was just he, Lara, Higgy, and a pot of coffee. Then a second pot. As that, too, had run empty, so had TC’s excuses. He’d shuddered internally, thinking about the claustrophobia that awaited him back in his trailer. Those four walls had put many a boa constrictor to shame with their squeeze play in the past.

Just as he’d been preparing to leave, though, Lara had tearfully mentioned the topic of funeral arrangements, or lack thereof, unintentionally pulling him back in. He’d immediately taken charge and started jotting down a to-do list. Even though the actual plans would have to be taken care of during normal business hours, she’d calmed considerably as the details were settled one by one, and, oddly, so had he.

By the time he finally drove home and fell into bed sometime after 3:30 in the morning, he was tired enough that the walls barely had a chance to twitch. Sadly, the peace lasted less than two hours before his phone started ringing. Rick, who had obviously consumed substantially more caffeine than he had, opened with, “Tommy was attacked last night,” and before TC could even fully process the rapid-fire details, he was saying, “and then I found out ten minutes ago that a patron at the club was stabbed just after closing. The guy’s all right, but I have to go down there to give HPD a statement. Right now, apparently. Can you come to the hospital? Thomas is sleeping, but I don’t want to leave him alone for too long, just in case.”

And that had been that. Scooping up his bundle of notes from the night before off of the passenger seat and the largest cup of coffee he’d been able to find, TC made his way toward the hospital entrance. Catching a glimpse of the clock in the lobby, he quickened his pace. It was almost 0700. Rick had only been gone for an hour and change, but he was right that Thomas didn’t do great with head injuries coupled with unfamiliar surroundings.

Finding the elevator, TC hit the button for the fifth floor and was soon stepping into room 559. To his surprise the bed wasn’t occupied, but it obviously had been recently. The blankets were rumpled, a half-empty IV bag and tubing hung from the stand, and one of the monitor screens was still on. He frowned and peered into the small bathroom but it, too, was vacant. 

TC leafed through his notepad, double-checking the room number he’d scribbled down, and a chill crawled up his spine when he saw that he’d written it right next to the address for the mortuary. Making a face, he flipped the notebook closed and told himself it didn’t mean anything. He’d been half-asleep when he’d taken down the number, which accounted for both its unfortunate placement and apparent inaccuracy.

Exiting the room, he did his best to shake off the eerie feeling as he forced himself to walk calmly to the nurses’ station. A large sign there directed him down the adjoining hallway to the opposite end of the desk, but no one appeared to be on duty there, either. Given the hour, he supposed it was possible he’d arrived during shift change, but that should have meant more people, not less. He continued down the hallway, glancing about, and almost bumped into a nurse as she exited the room to his left.

“Pardon me, sir. Can I help you with anything?”

“Hopefully, yeah. I’m looking for my friend Thomas. I thought he was supposed to be in 559, but I was just there and it’s empty.”

“Let me check the computer,” she said, unconcerned, and led the way back to the desk. After a few minutes of clicking, she looked up with an apologetic smile. “He and several other patients were moved to the sixth floor early this morning because of a problem with the air conditioning. Mr. Magnum is in 614, just off the elevators. They should have him settled by now so you can go on up. Sorry for the trouble.”

Thanking her, he headed back the way he’d come, tucking his notebook into the crook of his elbow before pulling out his phone and texting Rick, both to let him know that he’d arrived and to rib him for providing outdated intel. The reply was swift and typically-sarcastic, and TC chuckled as he boarded the elevator. His moment of joviality faded as soon as he pushed open the door to room 614, though. The lights were off and the curtains closed, and TC prepared himself for whatever state he might find Magnum in.

The trouble was, he didn’t find him at all. Another empty, unmade bed stood in the center of the heavily-shadowed room, and this time TC actually shivered. With trepidation, he repeated his earlier routine, even flipping on the light in the bathroom for good measure. Could Thomas have woken up confused enough to make a break for it? His condition had sounded serious. 

Deciding to check once more with the desk before mobilizing a search, TC reached to switch off the light, and that was when he saw it -- a shock of black hair sticking up just above the mattress on the far side of the bed. A faint whimper came from the same direction, and TC’s eyes widened. He was around the bed in seconds, crouching beside the trembling mess that was his elusive friend.

“Aw, hell, TM,” he muttered, clasping the other man’s left knee, which was about all he could reach. Magnum had somehow crammed himself into the small space between the bed and the nightstand, and was sobbing quietly in his sleep. He hadn’t reacted to the touch, so TC got up and went back to the door of the room, quietly closed it, and then pulled the curtains open a few inches to let in some more light.

“Thomas. You’ve gotta wake up,” he encouraged, settling back onto the floor. The other man didn’t seem to hear him. “Thomas!” he tried again, gripping his knee more tightly.

Magnum’s eyes suddenly flew open and he looked around wildly, his expression transforming from panic to confusion to wonder in the space of five seconds, and he tentatively reached out a hand toward TC’s. When his shaking fingers made contact, though, he pulled back as if he’d been burned, choking out, “You’re alive?”

“Last I checked.”

“H-how? Everyone’s dead. I _saw_ you...” 

TC shook his head. “You were having one helluva nightmare, brother.”

“Lara? J-ake?”

“They’re fine. Rick and Higgins, too.”

Magnum’s wide, dark eyes locked on his, not entirely lucid and suddenly a bit too hopeful. TC’s gut clenched with sorrow at what he knew was coming next. “Nuzo?”

Taking a steadying breath and feeling somehow like he was about to kick a puppy, TC said gently, “He’s gone, TM. You know that.” For a moment, Magnum just stared at him. Then he gave a tiny nod before his expression crumbled and he broke down all over again, hiding his face in his hands.

As he did so, TC noticed a streak of red on the side of his arm that looked suspiciously like blood. Frowning, he took a much more careful look at his friend: wires dangling loose from the collar of his gown, cargo shorts beneath, one shoe on, no IV. Thomas had been engaged in an escape attempt, but TC doubted he’d even been aware of it. He was deathly pale and shivering slightly beneath the more jarring tremors of his grief.

“Hey, come on. You’ve gotta stop that.”

“Can’t...he can’t be...dead. We made it out...made it home...safe here…”

“I know, man. It ain’t right. I’m not kidding, though. You really need to stop.”

Magnum snorted. “Why?”

“Because those ex-Marines you tangled with last night fractured the base of your skull, Thomas. You’re leaking fluid from around your brain.”

“What?” Magnum lifted his head slowly and looked at TC with confusion. “Rick’s friend said it was just a concussion.”

TC shrugged. “I guess they ran more tests a few hours ago and found it. Rick said you’d just gotten to sleep when the results came back, and with as much pain as you were in they didn’t want to wake you again, so he signed the consent and they sedated you while they confirmed the location of the leak and whatnot. They don’t think it’s bad enough for surgery, but you’re going to need to take it easy for a while until it heals. Any rise in the pressure around your brain could be dangerous. You’re not even supposed to be out of bed.”

Magnum considered the news for several seconds, his breath still hitching now and again. “So you’re telling me those guys killed Nuzo, shot Higgins, interfered with my investigation, bested me in a fight, and I can’t even cry about it because that in itself might kill me?” he muttered gloomily.

TC shrugged again. “Uh, yeah, I guess?”

“That’s really messed up, man.”

The two friends looked at each other, and suddenly burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. It didn’t last long, though, as Magnum was almost immediately gasping for breath, clutching his injured side. “Oh...owww. Laughing’s...not a good idea...either,” he panted.

TC shook his head. “Maybe in a day or two. What say we just get you out of there for now?”

Seeming to notice his cramped quarters for the first time, Thomas quietly agreed. He looked exhausted, and was almost dead weight in TC’s hands as the bigger man gently tugged him into the open. It took a lot of coaxing (and a lot more wincing) before Magnum was able to unfold from his contorted position, so when TC asked him if he could stand and got another cringe in response, he made an executive decision. Looping one arm around Magnum’s back and the other under his knees, he carefully lifted his friend off of the floor and onto the edge of the bed. The act earned him a squawk of protest that ended in a groan as Thomas swayed dangerously, overcome by the change in altitude.

“Easy, brother. I’ve got you,” TC murmured, quickly taking a seat next to him and adjusting his grip so Thomas could lean against his side. He’d intended it to be a temporary arrangement, but when he glanced at his friend a minute later to ask if he was ready to lie down, Magnum was sound asleep. TC sighed and hugged him a little closer, grateful that he could, and watched through the gap in the curtains as the last few notes of sunrise pink faded to daytime blue. He wanted justice for Nuzo as much as anyone, but was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. He shuddered to think what might have happened to Thomas if Rick hadn’t found him when he had, or to Higgins if the bullet had hit something more vital, and knew that those and many other what-ifs would be ample fuel to keep his insomnia going strong for several nights to come.


	5. Chapter 5

The ten minutes Magnum spent asleep next to TC were by far the best of his day. A feeling of raw, profound desolation had descended on him when he’d believed he’d lost three more of his family, and it lingered cold and heavy in his chest as he awoke to the sounds of argument, weighing on him to the extent that he couldn’t bring himself to care what the tense, hushed voices were saying. His nightmare was still too real, and he felt newly faint at the unbidden flashes of memory. He could still see the blood spatter on the walls, the bodies on the floor. He could feel the fear and the repeated impact of the baseball bat against his skull, hear the two ex-Marines laughing. TC’s arm around his shoulders was both the only thing that kept him upright in that moment and a desperately-needed reassurance that it _had_ all been a dream. Shuddering, he closed his eyes again, trying to blot out the light from the window, the heated conversation TC was having with a man he didn’t recognize, everything but the safety and familiarity of his friend’s embrace.

It was no use. The stranger, who turned out to be his less-than-understanding neurologist, had already noticed he was awake and used the opportunity to dismiss TC’s attempted explanation and lay into him directly regarding the damage he could have caused himself by, quote, “wandering around” in his condition.

Dizzy and nauseous, with no intent to wander anywhere, Magnum did his best to sit at attention and act like he was affected by the dressing-down he was barely able to follow, until Dr. Saunders (Sanders?) finally deemed him suitably chastised. TC was temporarily banished to the hallway then, and although Magnum knew he was just outside and not lying in a pool of blood in Nuzo’s living room, it was no small effort to keep his anxiety in check as he was put back to bed, securely tethered there by monitor wires and a new IV line, neurologically assessed six ways from Sunday, and interrogated for all of the other details he hadn’t been able to provide the night before.

At least three other doctors paraded through after that, all with similar sets of questions (couldn’t they just compare notes or something?) and none with a good reason for being there as far as Magnum was able to tell. Blood work and a pair of CT scans capped off the morning, and he was returned to his room too late for lunch and too tired and aching to want to eat anyway. He accepted pain meds in lieu of food in the vain hope of catching a nap, but the nurse didn’t seem to understand that one needed to actually _sleep_ in order to nap, and after her third or fourth interruption of his restless dozing, Magnum gave up.

Sympathizing with his frustration, or, more likely, trying to keep him from strangling the nurse, TC handed him the list of family and friends he was contacting for Lara and gave him the job of reading off phone numbers and checking off names as the calls were made. It started out fine, but after squinting for half an hour at names and numbers that constantly wanted to shift and blur -- and misreading the area code for Nuzo’s aunt so that TC ended up dialing a convenience store in Arizona -- Magnum’s headache flared so badly that he glumly surrendered the list to Rick when he arrived with dinner.

Hours later, as he brooded over it all in the post-midnight darkness, Magnum decided there was absolutely nothing funny about not being allowed to cry. His friend, his brother, who had saved his life on multiple occasions and constantly supported him in his battle against the demons that those events had left behind, was lying in Noelani’s morgue and he hadn’t done a single useful thing to stop it. He hadn’t even been able to finish checking off a simple list to help with Nuzo’s funeral arrangements, for Pete’s sake. It was really no wonder that TC and Rick had suggested over dinner that he let the HPD handle the remainder of the investigation, but their loss of confidence in him still stung bitterly, a shaker of salt rubbed in an already-gaping wound.

Feeling tears threatening, Thomas blinked rapidly and tried to distract himself from his dark thoughts by counting the 36 ceiling tiles for the tenth time. There were actually more than 36, but he was only able to include the span two rows to either side of his bed -- that was as far as he could move his eyes without getting vertigo. He reached the corner where the ceiling met the wall, completed the count, and let his gaze travel slowly downward to the TV that he was still too light-sensitive to turn on and too deaf to hear at a volume that wouldn’t earn him another lecture. 

Magnum closed his eyes in despair. What he really wanted to do was sleep, but his cracked rib was vying with the headache from hell for his attention. Both were easily remedied, of course. If he pushed the call button that resided inches away from his hand he knew he could be asleep and pain-free inside of ten minutes. The thought was extremely tempting. His last dose of pain medication had been hours ago and he knew he needed more. His fingers curled around the button, but he couldn’t bring himself to press it. If he did, he’d have to talk to his nurse again -- tonight, a cheerful guy named Jared who loved baseball more than he did and who had graciously made an exception to Dr. Sanders’ (Saunders?) order of bed rest to allow him to use the bathroom unsupervised, provided he’d made the trip in a wheelchair.

Magnum’s rib stabbed fiercely, and he dropped the button, his hand shooting to his side. Damn, but this sucked.

“Here, I’ve got it, Tommy.”

He startled a little at Rick’s voice, having momentarily forgotten that the other man had won (lost?) the argument over who would spend the night in the recliner. Unfortunately, Thomas couldn’t quite move fast enough to stop him from pressing the button. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he sighed after Rick had finished speaking to the voice that answered.

“No, _you_ should have, about twenty minutes ago,” Rick retorted mildly. “You’re obviously hurting, bud. Why don’t you want your meds?”

Magnum shrugged, then looked back at the ceiling, hoping that in the darkness Rick wouldn’t be able to see the flush of self-consciousness that crept into his face.

“TC told me about this morning,” Rick continued, “but you slept for quite awhile tonight. If it’s not the nightmares…?”

“It’s his laugh,” Magnum admitted softly.

“Whose laugh?”

“Jared. I know it’s stupid, but he sounds just like him. His inflection, even that eye-wrinkle thing when he smiles. I just…I can’t stop seeing Nuzo, man. Everywhere, like I’m straight-up hallucinating. I’m -- what if I can’t -- what if it’s always like this?”

Rick shook his head and propped his elbows on the bed’s side rail. “I don’t know, Tommy. Would that be so terrible? I mean, I think I’d rather see him everywhere than never see him again.”

Robin Masters didn’t give Rick the credit he deserved on the page. Thick-headed people weren’t that damn wise, and all Magnum could manage in response was a shaky nod and a broken whisper, “Amen to that, brother.” He held up a fist, and Rick lightly bumped it with his own as there was a knock on the door.

Thomas felt his heart sink even further at the sound. No matter how much he agreed with his friend’s words, he still wasn’t ready to embrace the reality of them. Rick’s hand clasped his still-raised fist. “I told you, brother, I’ve got this,” Wright said seriously, and proceeded to intercept the nurse just inside the doorway.

Magnum only overheard bits and pieces of their muted conversation, but Jared was apparently led to believe that his patient might be quieter than usual because he was feeling poorly. It was a decent cover story -- an adequate reason to keep small-talk to a minimum and less of a stretch to the truth than Magnum cared to admit -- but it backfired when the nurse studied his monitors, then studied him, and decided he looked ill enough to warrant a more thorough check.

Closing his eyes, Thomas let it happen. Blood pressure cuffs and thermometers were easy enough to ignore, and he was eager to get to the part with the good drugs and the sleeping. Then Jared was pressing a stethoscope to his chest and gently palpating his tender abdomen and it was all too much and he couldn’t run and he couldn’t breathe and it _hurt_. He flinched sharply at the discomfort and suddenly Nuzo was standing over him, not Jared, and everything was just...okay. It was kind of weird that Nuzo asked him to rate his pain, but he mumbled an answer anyway and something cold raced up his arm before the world gradually softened to static around the edges. Nuzo smiled at him sadly and carefully tucked the covers around him, like he’d done so many times in Afghanistan with the makeshift blanket they’d fashioned from scraps of burlap and pieces of their field jackets. It had been a small comfort, but one that had been constantly passed along to the most ill or injured among them, and Magnum had spent more than his share of days and nights huddled beneath its meager protection -- shivering, bleeding.

“No more bleeding, Thomas, hear me? You’re home. You’re safe. Rest up, now. You’ve got your work cut out for you, keeping our two Marines in line.”

Feeling himself fading, Magnum twisted his hands in the blankets, as if he could physically hold onto consciousness. “No, don’t go, Nuz,” he pleaded anxiously.

“Shhh...not happening, brother. I’ll always be right here.”

Thomas clung tightly to the scratchy burlap and sturdy canvas knotted in his fist, tighter still to the feeling of two warm hands -- one resting on his shoulder, the other carding gently through his hair -- until the narcotic haze swallowed him completely and he slept.


	6. Chapter 6

Hot water pounded against his shoulders, steam clouded the air, and although the water pressure from the hospital shower wasn’t nearly as good as the luxurious setup back at Robin’s Nest, Thomas still thought it was one of the most heavenly things he’d ever experienced. He washed slowly, mindful of the dark bruising that covered his left side and his touchy equilibrium as he readjusted to being upright after more than two days in bed.

Following his conversation with Nuzo -- the interaction had been far too material to call it a hallucination -- he’d slept for over thirteen hours, only interrupted twice by Rick (on behalf of the nurses) for concussion checks. He’d woken properly in the early afternoon, just in time to be tormented by the doctor parade, but had barely managed to stay awake long enough following their departure to eat an early dinner with TC before exhaustion and medication had knocked him out for another night.

The sleep had worked wonders, though. A constant ache still thrummed behind his eyes, but the series of tests the day before had confirmed that he was no longer leaking cerebrospinal fluid. His hearing had improved, too, and this morning he’d even been able to tolerate the sunlight streaming through the window without begging for the curtains to be drawn.

The thought of getting out into that sunlight lessened his regret at turning off the water, and although his legs felt a little shaky as he exited the shower, he determinedly finished cleaning up, combing his hair and brushing his teeth with supplies from the bag TC had brought for him. Perusing the duffel’s other contents, he shrugged into a soft white button-down and gripped the sink for balance in order to pull on a pair of khaki cargo shorts. He was glad he’d purchased duplicates of both. His shorts from the other night just needed a washing machine, but the shirt was probably in a biohazard bin somewhere. Zipping the bag closed, Magnum slung it over his shoulder, pushed open the bathroom door, and stopped abruptly. Dr. Jenkins was standing just outside, arms crossed, not looking particularly pleased.

“Uh...hey, Doc. What’s up?” he said, quickly pasting on what he hoped was a nonchalant grin.

“You mean aside from a patient who hasn’t been discharged?” Mickey deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at him. When his grin finally faltered, she snorted and shook her head, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Boy, Ricky sure has you pegged.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Magnum said in a tone that suggested he might, in fact, know exactly. Moving past her, he set his bag on a chair before leaning himself against the wall. “Where is _Ricky_ , anyway?” he asked curiously. He’d known TC had a sunrise tour scheduled, but waking up to an empty room had been a surprise.

“The police had more questions for him regarding an incident that happened at his club a few nights ago, so he asked me to drop by after my shift just in case you woke up before rounds and decided to rabbit.” Her eyebrow rose again pointedly.

Magnum sighed and held up his hands. “All right, you’ve got me. Now what?”

“Option 1, you acknowledge that you’re recovering from a complicated skull fracture and other significant injuries, and you lie back down and rest until Dr. Sandoz officially releases you this evening.”

Sandoz. _That_ was his name! “And Option 2?”

“Who said there’s an Option 2? I like Option 1 just fine.”

“I would, too,” Magnum said honestly, “but I have a job to finish. I’ll take a few days off when Nuzo’s killers are behind bars.”

“Pegged,” Mickey repeated, then frowned at him. “I think Option 2 is off the table with the way your knees are shaking. We’ll try Option 3 instead,” she decided, pointing him toward the recliner in the corner with a firm nudge to his shoulder. “Sit. Now. It’s going to take me a few minutes to arrange your follow-up and try to square this with Sandoz. He owes me a favor, but don’t be surprised if he still gives you an earful at the clinic tomorrow. You kind of deserve it.”

Magnum shrugged, unable to argue the point, and slowly made his way across the room. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Mickey. I’m off the clock,” she said, heading for the door. “But don’t think I won’t personally enforce Option 1 if you’re not in that chair when I get back,” she called over her shoulder.

He gave her a look of mock horror and then closed his eyes with a smile when he heard her chuckle on her way out. He really had no desire to move if staying still would accomplish his goal of a quick discharge. Besides, the recliner was comfortable. Like, _really_ comfortable, and before he knew it he was taking his first of several naps that day.

His second was in the passenger seat of Mickey’s Land Rover as she drove him to the King Kamehameha Club via a drive-thru juice shop and a wayside parking area overlooking the ocean. He found out about the drive-thru when she woke him at the overlook to inform him that, in addition to his agreement to be chauffeured to the club, Option 3 also required him to eat breakfast. Having no appetite to speak of, Thomas really wanted to decline the banana bread and mango-pineapple smoothie he was presented with, but one look at Mickey’s face told him exactly how well that would go over. Taking the food, he began to eat reluctantly and in return was regaled with two blackmail-worthy stories about Rick that almost made the force-feeding worthwhile. 

The sugar boost made it more worthwhile, going a long way toward ridding him of his pervasive fatigue, especially when it was combined with the adrenaline rush of finding a boatload of gold bricks a couple of hours later. Both sources of energy proved finite, though, and Magnum was peeling off his wetsuit when Rick literally caught him swaying dizzily. He managed to finish changing with a minimum of assistance from his friend, but still felt unsteady enough to comply when Rick guided him inside to the rear bench seat and insisted that he lie down.

Thomas was asleep before the boat even started moving back toward land and he had to be shaken awake at the dock, which should have warned him to expect further spontaneous dozing. Things didn’t move slowly enough after he got the call from HPD that the gold was missing for him to grab a precautionary cup of coffee, though. One minute he was begging Higgins to get him satellite footage for what he thought would be, at best, a Hail Mary lead and the next he was racing around hairpin turns on the heels of Nuzo’s killers. As car chases tended to go, everything was under control until suddenly it wasn’t and Magnum found himself staring wide-eyed at the fast-approaching grille of the gigantic truck he’d been tailing. His bullets ricocheted ineffectually off of the speeding vehicle until his only option was to jump, and he launched himself out of the Ferrari and into the air, barely achieving enough lift off of the passenger door to make a successful grab for the skid of TC’s chopper as it swooped in from above.

Adrenaline was a funny thing, because although he must have performed one hell of a free climb or gymnastics maneuver to get a foothold on the strut, Thomas didn’t consciously register anything else until Rick grasped his forearm and helped pull him even with the chopper’s door. He grinned at the other man, even laughed as he gained firmer footing and a decent two-handed grip on the aircraft. Nowhere in his exhilaration did it cross his mind to close his eyes or relax his hold, but between one moment and the next an awful ache blossomed in his side, his limbs turned to jelly, and he faded out for the fourth time. He heard a shout of alarm from TC, glimpsed through half-lidded eyes the lush, green death-drop below him, noted with concern that there was nothing but air in his hands where the chopper had just been, and then he was falling.

Panic brought him around enough to catch another flash of sickening empty space before two hands closed around his wrist tightly enough to bruise and yanked him back in the opposite direction. He landed painfully on top of Rick, and had the unsettling notion that his legs were still sticking out into the void, but he’d lost all capacity to move. His vertigo had returned in the worst way and he found himself wishing for unconsciousness as he clung miserably to Rick’s arm (leg?) and tried to convince himself that TC couldn’t possibly be flying the loops and figure eights that his disoriented brain was reporting to him. 

Being convinced didn’t fix the problem, though. It was still an eternity and a decade more before he detected the soft thump that signaled they’d landed. The engine cut off and the rotor slowed to a stop, but he still felt like he was moving, his head throbbing mightily as it spun. Then he _was_ moving, and he whimpered in pain as Rick and TC lifted him out of the helicopter and laid him gently on the ground.

“Dammit. He’s shaking _bad_ , man.”

“I know. Here, prop up his legs on this before he passes out. Thomas, I need you to tell me where you’re hurt, buddy.”

The words seeped in and out of Magnum’s hazy consciousness, blending together, not making much sense. He stared at the blurry blue sky, partially obscured by TC’s helicopter. Then his feet suddenly drifted upward of their own accord. Uh oh...the sky was above him, the helicopter was above him...that meant nothing was below him! He was still falling! Terrified, he clawed at the ground as his stomach lurched and the ache in his ribs intensified. He writhed in pain and panic, and wound up on his hands and knees, staring at a grassy expanse that seemed to rise and fall away from him in waves. The sight was incomprehensible and completely nauseating, and he couldn’t stop himself from throwing up.

He lost track of how long it went on, but at some point his strength simply gave out and an arm looped around his chest, supporting his weight. Hands at his back rubbed soothingly, and eventually lowered his trembling body onto the grass again. Something heavy -- more like a tarp than a blanket -- settled over him and its scratchy texture brought with it a strange sense of calm and hope until his clearing vision revealed only TC and Rick sitting on either side of him in the shade of the chopper. Right. Nuzo was gone. Magnum had pushed for an early release from the hospital to continue the hunt for the men who’d killed him. Now those men were dead -- at least, that was the foregone conclusion given the last known speed and trajectory of their truck...and Robin’s car. Shit.

Higgins was going to kill him. Robin might help, or he might just watch. Thomas wondered if he could convince the two of them not to toss him out of a helicopter. He’d jumped out of plenty of aircraft as a SEAL, but _falling_ out of one without a parachute was damn scary...though, really, not that different. So why couldn’t he stop shaking?

“Because he’s an idiot.”

Okay, that was a bit harsh. It wasn’t as though he’d _planned_ to fall out of a helicopter!

“And that got his attention, which I guess answers your other question.”

Thomas looked at Rick in confusion, then realized his friend was talking on the phone, which explained why he was only picking up half of the conversation.

“No, but he’s really weak. He’s been shaking like a leaf since right after -- since before we landed and he vomited a couple of times. Yeah. No, that makes sense...you bet. I’ll make sure he does. Thanks, Mick.”

“How pissed is she?” Magnum rasped after Rick hung up, and was a little taken aback when the other man glared at him.

“Not as pissed as I am. What the hell were you thinking, Tommy? There’s a reason Robin’s books are called _fiction_. Even Ferraris can’t do the crazy-ass stunts he dreams up!”

“I know, but I had to try something to stop them. I owed Nuzo that much, and if Gerard and Resnick had made it around that turn there would have been civilians at risk. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“And what if you’d ended up going over the edge along with those two idiots?” TC asked quietly. “Or punctured a lung by climbing with a busted rib? Would Nuzo want that?”

“He’d do the same for me, for any one of us.”

“That’s not the point, man! You came _so_ damn close,” Rick’s voice grew strangled with emotion and he shook his head helplessly. “I didn’t...I had my harness off, I was halfway out that door, and I _barely_ managed to grab you. You’ve gotta stop pretending you’re invincible.”

“He’s right, TM. You scared the shit out of us. If we’d lost you, too...”

There would be no coming back from it. Thomas knew from the genuine anxiety in both of their voices -- from the haunted feeling _he_ still carried from a long-gone nightmare -- that they’d all been staring down that same fear for days now and they were all at their breaking point. Maybe together they could still find some way to weather the loss of their brother, to move forward, but if they lost anything else, _anyone_ else...

“You didn’t, though. You’re stuck with me. Promise.” Magnum solemnly locked eyes with each of them until they nodded, although it would’ve been more reassuring if he hadn’t immediately followed it up with a coughing fit. He struggled to sit up, but didn’t make it very far until the others joined the effort.

“Here, drink a little if you can,” Rick encouraged, holding a water bottle to his lips. Its sun-warmed contents felt wonderful on his dry throat, but Thomas only risked a couple of small sips before he turned his head away.

“Your stomach still upset?” TC asked with concern.

“My everything is upset,” Magnum sighed, allowing himself to sink back against his friends as, once again, he waited for the world to let him off of the tilt-a-whirl. When it did, he found himself looking down a gentle slope into the center of a bright, green valley. Sunlight dappled the grassy expanse, drawing vivid patterns between the shadows of the slow-drifting clouds overhead. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Somewhere north of Tantalus. I wasn’t paying much attention to the GPS when I set us down,” TC admitted.

“Sorry, man. I really didn’t mean to scare you guys like that.”

“Forget it, brother.”

“Yeah, just not literally. If you don’t remember, it won’t be any fun when we tease you about it repeatedly for the next fifty years or so.”

Magnum laughed. “I suppose I owe you that much for saving my ass.”

“Damn straight,” Rick agreed, giving his shoulder a playful shove.

“Nuzo would have loved this place,” Magnum said wistfully after a beat. “Remember how obsessed he was with how green everything is here?”

“It wasn’t just the greenery,” TC said. “It was the color in general. Our first few weeks on the island he said it almost hurt his eyes after being so used to the two-tone sand and sky of the desert.”

Rick snorted. “It must not have hurt him very much. I thought he was going to buy every Aloha shirt here, the more colorful the better.”

“At least we talked him out of the one with the penguins on it,” Magnum grinned.

“Hey, I liked that one,” TC protested. “They were all wearing top hats.”

“Dude, it’s Hawaii. There are no penguins here.”

“I seem to recall you having a seagull shirt, Orville. There are no seagulls here either.”

“Yeah, but at least one pops in from time to time for a visit. If you’re seeing penguins in top hats you’re flying that chopper a little too high.”

“Oh crap,” Magnum said quietly.

TC and Rick’s eyes were on him in an instant. “What’s wrong?” they asked in unison.

“We still have to fly home, don’t we?” he asked, looking uneasily at the chopper.

“I’m afraid so, brother, unless you’re up for a 20-mile nature hike.”

He definitely wasn’t. “I think I’ll just stay here until morning if it’s all the same to you.”

TC shook his head. “No can do. Those clouds are set to turn into a massive squall in a couple of hours. I already cancelled my evening tour.” 

Magnum swallowed and continued sizing up the helicopter, especially its very large, very open doors.

As if reading his mind, Rick clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax, Tommy. You’re sitting in the back this time.”

“I’m not sure it’ll make much difference,” he muttered, feeling greener by the second.

“These might, though.”

Thomas looked at the orange packet of Dramamine tablets that Rick deposited in his hand and gave his friend a wan smile. “Thanks. Where did you…?”

“Please, TM. You are _not_ my first airsick client,” TC scoffed, holding up a large Ziploc bag full of the packets.

“I’m not airsick,” Magnum objected. “Concussion, remember?”

“Yeah, man, technically he’s not even your client,” Rick added with a grin.

“Dopey’s right again,” TC said to Magnum, “but he’s forgetting that technically neither is he, so I’ll give you a free pass.”

Thomas smirked and downed the tablets. “Thanks, buddy.”

“As for you,” TC said, looking at Rick seriously. “Pay up.”

Rick blinked. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

“Not even a little. Look at the mess you made digging through my gear!” TC gestured to the ground around them, and Magnum noticed for the first time the surprising array of equipment that was strewn about.

Rick held up a hand. “My bad. I was just trying to take care of our boy here.”

“And to do that you needed to unpack the emergency rations, the life vests, _and_ the raft?”

“I was looking for the emergency blanket _like you told me to_. It’s not my fault it wasn’t where it should have been but the tarp was.”

“The blanket’s _never_ been with that stuff! It’s next to the first aid kit behind your seat!” Taking a deep breath, the pilot shook his head. “Look, it’s all good, just...put everything back, okay? I want to be ready to take off as soon as TM's meds kick in. I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

“Fine,” Rick said and carefully shifted Magnum to lean against TC before getting to his feet to gather up the gear.

“We’ll talk about your bill when we get back,” TC called after him, and laughed as he ducked the packet of trail mix Rick threw at his head.

\-----

Magnum was unsure he’d survived the car chase and subsequent mid-air acrobatics after all. The Dramamine had done its job and the chopper ride home had been quick and relatively painless, but now -- after sleeping through the rest of the day and night -- he felt like he’d been steamrolled by that truck and he couldn’t imagine being less able to move if he’d fallen properly from TC’s chopper and landed on concrete. _Everything_ hurt, which didn’t seem quite fair considering the only new injuries he’d sustained were a slightly-wrenched shoulder and a pulled flank muscle that had aggravated his rib.

Thomas’ eyes watered as he slid his legs over the side of the bed, and the effort of sitting up made him want to lie down again, but he doubted whether he could get himself back under the covers anyway, so what was the point? He huddled deeper into the thick sweatshirt and pajama pants that Rick and TC had bundled him up in the night before, discouraged that his body was still off-kilter enough that the warm clothing was barely keeping him from shivering. As he looked out the window at the first light of morning, the sudden recollection of why his alarm had gone off so early left him even colder.

He didn’t know if he could do this. Burying Nuzo was the final act of respect and love that he could give his brother, yet somehow it felt like the worst kind of abandonment, too. A few tears slid down his face, but he ignored them and just sat staring at his tightly-clasped hands, trying to figure out how to take the first step into this unbearable day.

Footsteps in the hallway startled him some minutes later, and he looked up blankly. He didn’t know if he’d have batted an eye if it had been a burglar or the Dobermans finally coming to eat him, but it was TC, so he just went back to staring at his hands as his friend set something on the nightstand next to him and then settled into a nearby chair without a word. The aroma of coffee got his attention again, and the large mug beside him pulled at his left hand like gravity -- which instantly reminded him of how much pulling gravity had already done on that hand in the past 24 hours and he winced, gingerly turning until he could reach for the mug with his right hand instead.

“Rick still says you should get that x-rayed,” TC commented. “I think he’s afraid he broke you.”

Thomas smiled faintly. “Rick worries too much. Besides, Mickey looked at it last night after he badgered her into checking on me. It’s just bruised and sore like everything else.”

“Speaking of which, I thought you might need a hand getting to the shower.”

“You worry too much, too,” Magnum told him, “but I’m so damned stiff I’m not sure I’ll make it otherwise, so thanks.” 

They sat for a few minutes longer, drinking their coffee in subdued silence, until Thomas decided to face the music and let TC help him to his feet. Moving sucked as much as he’d expected, but the hot shower did what it could for his locked muscles, which was quite a lot, and he managed the trip back on his own. His limbs still felt heavy and tired, though, and he wondered how long he could look forward to feeling that way. He’d had his ass handed to him plenty of times before and had bounced back faster. Maybe he was just getting old.

Turning to the task of his dress whites, he took his time, doing up each button deliberately, subconsciously stalling for as long as possible. He slid on his Cross of Lorraine ring last, and was momentarily lost in memories of their escape from the prison camp, until he heard Rick and TC laughing their heads off about something in the living room. Then, the memories faded on a wave of apprehension. They had all promised to always have each other’s backs, a promise that had been reaffirmed the day before, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the valley, but what if they still ended up drifting apart despite their best intentions? Magnum had always gravitated toward Nuzo like Rick and TC did toward each other. That balance was forever broken now. What if he no longer fit in the picture?

Trying hard to shake the thought, Thomas picked up his phone and reached for his wallet, but it wasn’t on the table where he usually left it. Considering all that had happened in the past 24 hours, that was hardly a surprise. He checked his pockets from the night before, then remembered that he’d forgotten to transfer it when he’d changed clothes after the dive. Pulling his cargo shorts from the growing pile of clothes on the floor, he reached into the pocket and froze.

Smooth leather greeted his fingertips, but he ignored the wallet. There was something else beneath it, something familiar. Scratchy.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Thomas sat down heavily in the chair TC had vacated not long before and slowly drew a scrap of worn fabric from his shorts pocket. Half of it was burlap. Half was canvas. In the center, it was stitched together firmly by a strand of twine. Hands shaking now, Thomas flipped the material over, already knowing what he would find -- four drops of blood on the corner of the canvas. The oldest one was his. The other three had been added as a symbol of solidarity.

Outside, the haze left behind by the previous night’s storm was clearing. Light suddenly flooded into the room, and Magnum knew with calm certainty what he was being shown -- a before and after snapshot of the group of them. They had all been burlap once -- rough, brittle, full of holes, both mental and physical, from too much time in a place where a blanket with such qualities could seem comforting. Since then, most of the holes had been filled in by the higher thread count of sturdy friendship, weaving them back to resilience. They were canvas now -- too strong to be unraveled, especially not by Nuzo’s death. If anything, his passing might well serve to bind them more tightly, be their common thread as the final time they were all together.

Sighing deeply, Thomas reverently folded the material that he was so impossibly holding and placed it in a drawer. He closed it, then opened it again, but the scrap was still there, somehow. Just like them.

“Thanks, brother,” he whispered softly, retrieved his wallet, and went to join the others in honoring Nuzo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. I had a blast writing it, despite the sometimes-heavy subject matter, and I've loved hearing your feedback!
> 
> This story also inspired some artwork -- which is pretty unusual for me. If you're so inclined, you can [click here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=18Bv86MyfkvRoK932UyWYPfMIPkzBhbu1) to see it.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! :)


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